The Dixie Widow (3 page)

“I suppose so,” Beau shrugged, “but we’ll be ready.”

“We gave it all we had the last few months—and it wasn’t enough.” There was a strain in Sky’s face as he spoke. “The plan was to launch a threefold offensive—invade Maryland, hit Kentucky, and roll up Grant’s army.” He held up his fingers and slowly ticked them off, saying, “The invasion of Maryland stopped at Sharpsburg, Bragg lost at Perryville on the eighth and had to pull out of Kentucky, and Rosecrans whipped us at Corinth.”

“But we hurt them, sir!” Mark interjected. “They say that Lincoln is trying desperately to find himself a general like Lee or Jackson.”

Sky smiled as Rebekah came back and sat beside him. “I’m too gloomy,” he admitted. “Let’s have a good supper and forget the war.”

“How’s Belle doing?” Mark asked.

Sky and Rebekah exchanged a look that both men caught.

Beau asked hesitantly, “She’s still taking it hard?”

“I—we’ve been dreading your return, Mark—and you, too, Beau,” Rebekah said sadly. “You know how we long to have you home, but—” Rebekah broke off in agitation and walked to the window.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asked in bewilderment. “Has she been sick?”

“No, not that,” Sky said. “But she’s broken mentally, Mark.”

Both men stared at him, and Beau asked incredulously, “She’s lost her mind? I can’t believe that!”

“Neither could any of us,” Sky answered. “But you know how she almost died over Vance’s death? Never smiled, and began saying she’d never rest until all the Yankees were either driven from the South or dead?”

“She
was
frantic,” Mark admitted. “I was worried about her.”

“So were we all.” Rebekah came back and sat down beside Sky, taking his hand. “But she wouldn’t listen to any of us.
Everybody knew how she was. They called her ‘The Dixie Widow.’ ”

“We thought she’d get over it,” Sky spoke up. “But about two weeks ago she began to change.” He frowned at the memory, adding, “If anything, she’s worse off than she was hating the Yankees.”

“For goodness’ sake!” Mark burst out. “What’s the matter with her? Tell us!”

“She says now that the South is all wrong,” Rebekah replied. “She blames the government for starting the war that killed Vance.” Fighting back the tears, she whispered, “It started with a few complaints—but it’s gone far beyond that now!”

“We had to tell you—so that you wouldn’t be caught off guard,” Sky said painfully. “And Pet will tell Thad.”

“Maybe shes had—some kind of a nervous breakdown,” Mark muttered. “Has she seen a doctor?”

“No. She says there’s nothing wrong with her,” Sky answered stonily. “You’ll hear it soon enough if she comes in to dinner. Try to be patient with her. I—I’m more afraid for her than I am for you boys.”

He got up abruptly and left, with Rebekah following. “I’d better go with him,” she whispered. “He’s taking it very hard.”

“I still can’t believe it, Mark!” Beau got to his feet, his blue eyes reflecting helplessness. “Belle’s not that weak!”

“You have to remember,” Mark returned, “Belle never had to face anything difficult before. She’s always had everything she wanted. This is the first time she’s ever had to face hardship. And we’ve seen some pretty steady women collapse under this kind of grief.”

They sat silently, thinking of the vivacious girl who had reigned over Belle Maison since she was sixteen years old. Finally the men went to their rooms until Lucy’s call to dinner. As they came down the stairs, their hearts were filled with apprehension.

The table in the small dining room was set with silver, and
the gleam of old china reflected the hundred candles burning in the chandelier overhead. Both men immediately looked for Belle, but she was not there.

“Hello, Pet,” Mark said, going to kiss her. “Did your pigs make it?”

“Oh yes!” she smiled happily. “Fifteen of them—and all little darlings!”

At seventeen, Pet Winslow would never be the beauty her sister was, but she didn’t mind in the least. She was a wholesome girl with a nice figure, and a face that was strong rather than pretty. A pair of large gray eyes, a small nose, together with a prominent dimple and a widow’s peak gave her a piquant look. She had fallen head-over-heels in love with Thad Novak and now took hold of his arm, saying, “It’s so exciting being engaged to an officer in the Richmond Blades!”

“More exciting than birthing pigs?” Thad grinned.

“Just slightly,” she teased. Then a shadow swept her face as she saw her sister enter. “Why, Belle, I thought I’d have to go and get you.”

Beau hurried forward to greet her, holding out his hand. “Belle! It’s so good to see you!”

The hand she offered him was limp, and her eyes dull, not alive and shining as he remembered. “Hello, Beau—Mark.” She allowed Mark’s awkward embrace, then went to her chair.

A silence fell over the room. “Well, I guess you young men are starved for some good home cooking!” Rebekah said nervously, trying to lighten the heaviness. “Sky, will you ask the blessing?”

They bowed their heads and Sky prayed, “Lord, we thank you for the good food, but we are more grateful for the safe return of our young men. Thank you for that in the name of Jesus Christ.”

When they raised their heads, Sky warned, “Don’t get your hand too close to Thad’s plate, Mark. It’s a good way to lose it!”

Thad blushed and the others laughed at his embarrassment.
The meal went on as Lucy brought in platter after platter of food—chicken, chops, roast, followed by late vegetables, all eaten with gusto by the three officers.

While Pet kept them entertained with her plans for Thad during the brief furlough, Beau studied Belle covertly. She was as beautiful as ever. Even the harsh black dress could not hide that, but she seemed somehow harder. Before, she had always been happy and bubbly. Now she sat there eating only a few bites, her head bowed, except for an occasional glance around. When she did look at Beau, there was no warmth in her dark eyes. Instead, her expression was enigmatic and she seemed to be studying him as she would a stranger. It unnerved him, and he began to see what the Winslows had tried to explain.

As they finished the main courses and began enjoying the blackberry cobbler swimming in thick cream, the conversation turned to the war. It was inevitable, for their world was surrounded and formed by it, but even as Mark and Sky talked of battles and strategy, Beauchamp saw Belle’s face assume a cast of distaste. Her lips thinned and she stared at her plate in silence.

“Well, Beau, where do you think the next campaign will take place?” Sky asked.

“Most of the officers say the Yankees will mount some sort of drive on Richmond again,” he replied. “They’ve lost so many men, though, that the Northern newspapers are calling their generals ‘butchers.’ I guess most of them are, the way they feed their troops into deathtraps—”

“Well, aren’t all generals ‘butchers’?” Belle broke in bitterly, her lips twisted with anger. “How many of our Southern men have died needlessly?”

A thick silence invaded the room. Finally, Mark spoke. “Nobody likes war, Belle. But we’ve got to fight—and some of us will have to die for our Cause.”

“And what good does the
Cause
do Vance now?” Belle demanded sharply as her eyes swept the room. “We’ll never
win this war. And who’s dying in it? The
best
men! They rush to join the fight, while the cowards lag behind. I’ve heard you say so yourself, Father. And after all of our best are killed and our worst are left, what will remain to build on?”

“Belle!” Sky protested.

But she brushed his words aside and went on. “Richmond is doomed. Every day the ring draws a little tighter. They’re digging up old outhouses now to get nitre to make gunpowder! We’re out of weapons, and can’t get any from overseas because the blockade is strangling us!” She jumped to her feet, and in a voice edged with hysteria she cried, “My God! The South is dying, and you all sit here and talk about going to fight as if it were a picnic!”

She whirled and ran to the door, stopping to turn and face them, her eyes wild as she whispered, “Well, I lost my husband to this war—but I’ll not lift a finger for your precious
Cause!
Never!”

She fled up the stairs, leaving them white-faced and ashamed, as though they had observed something obscene.

“Now you know,” Sky said heavily. Then he got up and left the room, and the rest followed as quickly as they could.

“She’s—she’s lost her mind,” Mark groaned as he walked out of the house with Beauchamp. “My poor parents!”

Beau stopped short, feeling as if someone had punched him in the stomach. “I’m going back to town, Mark. I can’t stand this.”

Beau departed immediately and Mark returned to the house, where he found Rebekah standing at the window looking out.

“Mama, do people know about Belle?”

“Yes, they do,” Rebekah answered and came to stand beside him, reaching out her hand for support. “She’s made her views known all over Richmond. Not only that, there was a journalist who took it all down. He did a story in the Richmond paper—all about how one of our greatest heroes has been disgraced by his widow’s behavior.”

“Mama, no!”

“She’s leaving, Mark.”

“Leaving! To go where?”

Rebekah’s gentle eyes showed the pain she felt. “She says she’ll not live in a country that’s bent on suicide. She’s going to the North.”

Mark stared, incredulous. “She’s insane, isn’t she?” A wave of bitterness swept over him. “She’d be better off dead!”

“Mark! Don’t say that!” Rebekah clung to him, and finally regained control of her voice. “We must pray, Mark! God will have to help her!”

****

Belle had met Ramsey Huger only twice since she had agreed to become an agent—once at a deserted house just outside of Richmond on a dirt road and once on the platform of the railroad station at dusk. Each time he had been impressed with her determination, telling his superior, a short man named Les Butler, of the girl’s progress. “She’s a natural actress, Les,” he had said. “And with the story in the paper about her Union sympathies, word will seep into the North right away!”

“I take credit for that, Ramsey,” Butler smiled. “The writer was my man!” Then he had said, “Get her in place as soon as you can—but it’ll have to be done right. The Yankees are a little harder to fool now than when Mrs. Greenhow and Belle Boyd first got to them.”

The still morning air hung over the city as Huger rode along a deserted country road. He was not surprised to see a carriage waiting in front of a burned-down house, for it was the spot he and Belle had agreed on the last time they met. He rode up, dismounted and quickly tied his horse to the rear of the buggy. As he got inside, she gave him a quick smile, and he almost kissed her—but not quite.

“Ramsey, I’ve got it—a letter from Captain Winslow!”

He took the envelope but kept his eyes fixed on her face.
“Belle, I’ve been worried about you,” he said, putting his hand on hers. “It’s been hell on you—and I’ve been unable to do anything.”

She blinked at his obvious concern, gave a short laugh, and said, “Never mind. It was something that had to be done.”

“Your people—they all hate you, I suppose?”

“No. It’d be easier if they did.” She faltered, then pleaded, “Ramsey, let me tell them! Please!”

“You mustn’t, Belle!” he insisted. “They’re not actors, you know. And they’re being watched—carefully watched! If just one of them failed to keep up the deception, it’d bring great harm!”

She dropped her head, whispering, “I suppose—but they just—keep on loving me—and being so kind . . .”

He put his arm around her and tipped her face up. “Who could help that, Belle?” Impulsively he lowered his head and kissed her.

Belle knew it was wrong, but she had been alone for so long, cut off from her family and ostracized by almost the entire population. His caress was unexpected, and she let his lips rest on hers, savoring the moment of tenderness . . .

“Don’t do that again, please,” she said quietly, drawing back. “I’m lonely and you’re an attractive man. I have no doubt many women have found you so—but I didn’t agree to give up my life for a flirtation.”

He was wise enough to say at once, “I apologize—but at the same time, Belle, I promise you it was not that kind of kiss.”

“Oh, never mind, Ramsey,” she said wearily, adding, “The letter is from Captain Whitfield Winslow. It’s an invitation to visit him in Washington.”

“Great!” Huger cried excitedly as he removed the letter and scanned the contents.

“What an opportunity!” Ramsey exclaimed with a broad smile as he gave it back to her. “When do you leave?”

“As soon as possible,” Belle replied. She held the envelope, hesitated, then gave him a strange look. “I am going to betray this old man’s confidence. How can I find it in my heart to do that?”